Snippet #1469123

Kill, Kill, Kill

Pain. A searing pain engulfed his arm, causing him to drop the saber on reaction alone. Caine howled in a mixture of pain, agony, and rage. He was slowly beginning to lose himself to the red haze. He snarled as the the Child spoke to him. As she spoke down to him, holding him like he was some errant infant. The thought made Caine rage, a mixture of pain and anger. He wanted her dead. He wanted her dead, now. She spoke of things. Of defiling her village, of defiling her. She had called him a barbarian, which sent a streak of anger into his eyes. He tilted up his head and looked down his nose at her. If this was to be his last moment, then dammit, it was going to be a defiant one. He growled, "I am no barbarian... I am a human." He said simply and locked eyes with the child. He was not about to give her the satisfaction of fear, of doubt, of weakness.

Then she was gone. The had been tackled by something, a bird perhaps? He scanned around looking for some sort of clue as to his savior. He was answered by a nod from a nearby harpy as she flew up to meet some airborne attacker. Now free, Caine cradled his scorched arm. Weary of his injuries, he knelt and picked up the saber he had dropped with his opposite, his left hand. While his right hand was the main hand, he was still proficient enough with this left. Though it still put him at a disadvantage. Held the saber with one hand, extended to fend off attackers and hugged his injured arm close to his chest to avoid further injury.

The attack, the relative ease he was injured and the helplessness he had felt came in waves. However, each wave only angered him further. He felt weakened, and that made him mad. He had been rendered helpless for moments, and that provoked the beast within. Caine's anger welled and raged within in a maelstrom. If he had been uninjured, there was a good chance that he would have just lost himself and given in to the torrent. Yet, he knew better. To lose himself now would mean certain death. Now was not the time for blunt rage, but cold ruthlessness.

His berserker torrent had died down and warped into a cold fury. He had to think, he had to keep his wits about him. He straightened out, became aware of the battle that surrounded him. He became aware that he was on the losing side. He grimaced, he hated losing and losing here would certainly mean death... Or worse. He spun the saber in his left hand confidently, effectively throwing a big middle finger to fate and holding the sword blade downwards, a defensive stance to be sure.

"We're leaving! Thirty seconds to prepare for the translocation!" He heard. He had no idea what translocation was, but he had seen other Legionnaires tapping the emblem on their armor, a feat Caine replicated with his injured arm. A burst of pain surged through the arm and threatened to engulf Caine once more in a Berserker's embrace. But thirty seconds... What could he do in thirty seconds? He glanced over at the Child who had threatened him earlier... Of course.

He skirted across to the Child, steps more sure and less boisterous than they had been in his wrath. He arrived at her side as she writhed on the ground, confused. He stood above her and stared down. An urge to kill her right now with a simple flick of his wrist. No, not that way, not yet. He stood, and spoke in a voice devoid of anger, a feat not easily accomplished. "I am a human," He repeated, "I defiled nothing. You," He began again, looking down at the Child. Their roles were reversed. Now it was him who looked down upon the grounded child. It was him who held the upper hand. However, he held no joy or pride in this fact. Caine's next words held hints of an overlying fury, the origins of his title of berserker, "It was you who took my Liera from me. For that alone, I'll kill every single damn one of you." With that, a wet squelch punctuated the sentence. He had stabbed the Child in throat in a fit of rage at the memory of this Liera. As he ripped the saber out of the slain child's throat, a spatter of blood landed on his scarred cheek.

He spun on his heels and began to walk. The walk turned to a run. The run to a sprint. In his cold mind, he began to think more rationally. He only had a few seconds left before the Translocation took place. What could he do in such little time? Surely he couldn't kill all of the children... But perhaps. Perhaps he could help some of the others survive the next few seconds... He was near Iriana, the Lamia who he had wished the best during the fight and two Orcs, Ferka and Thanaros, as well as the nightmarian Neira included. As he ran to the group who had backed up in a circle formation, he leaned to his left and hamstringed a Child from behind who was threatening the them, dropping the cultist to the ground in an instant and used the hole by sliding into the their formation, adding his strength to theirs, and making the four, five.

He leaned slightly on the Lamia and an Orc, still hugging himself with his injured arm. He pulled the saber across his chest, the blunted side of the blade running the length of his forearm and held in a defensive manner. He spoke in a gruff and tired manner, but still held the edge of dark humor and sarcasm, "How are we this evenin' ?" He asked those who's formation he had slid in, "Hope ya don't mind me cuttin' in like this." He said, a pun on the fact that he did, in fact, cut in, evidenced by the Child clutching the back of it's leg.